


360

by exbex



Series: You May Be Right [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Kink Negotiation, Rape Fantasy, Rape Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 16:46:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4884268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exbex/pseuds/exbex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly wants to act out an edgy fantasy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	360

Molly Hooper is reflecting on guilt as she peers into a microscope. She’d had coffee with her friend Paul that morning, and Paul was given to mild rants on occasion. Today’s was on guilt. “Humans are too good at ignoring their guilt,” he’d said, gesticulating. “Even though we’re the ones who have messed everything up on this planet.” Molly had only half-listened to the ensuing musing over whether the voluntary extinction of the human race movement was ethically sound, because she was thinking about roleplay fantasies and wondering if Sherlock would deign to entertain them, or if he would scoff at the clichés.

The guilt would occur later, after returning to work. Guilt over 1) not feeling enough guilt about her role in the destruction of the planet as a member of the human race, but then cross-checked against a list of things she does to be a conservationist and dismissed, and 2) guilt over pondering her boyfriend’s former status as a self-described high-functioning sociopath and wondering if she can a) use it to her advantage, and b) if she ought to throw out her rape fantasy because of afore-mentioned sociopath status, and c) wondering if she’s a terrible girlfriend for even entertaining the idea that her boyfriend, who once threw himself off of the roof of the very building she was currently sitting in in order to save his friends, could still be labeled with the term sociopath.

Molly promptly decides she needs more coffee. The good stuff, not the swill from the canteen. It’s a stroke of luck that she happens to run into Mary at the shop. If there’s anyone who has patience for blunt questions, it’s Mary.

“Do you and John ever roleplay?” Molly blurts out after the initial greetings.

“I like what you’ve done with your hair,” Mary says while she’s stirring sugar into her coffee. She takes a sip and makes a slight face. “And yes.” She grins and leans in conspiratorially, “I knew you had it in you.”

Molly bites her lip. “Well…”

Mary is, as usual, shockingly perceptive. “You don’t need permission from me or anyone else, you know. And if you’re worried about what Sherlock will say, I’m happy to remind you that he does want to please you.”

Right. She’s allowed to want things for herself, and she doesn’t have to feel guilty about it. That left the only real worry being that Sherlock would say no, which, of course, led to the usual panic about wanting something so badly and the distinct possibility of not getting it. 

She’s back at the microscope, pondering Mary’s words. Sherlock does like to please her, when he’s not wrapped up in experiments and cases, and these days, he’s more considerate even then. Of course, he has the right to say no to her sexual fantasies. So she’s left with only trying to decide how to broach the topic with him.

It’s at that moment that he comes racing through the lab. “Bring home some toes later,” he says absently as he types out a text and leaves without looking at her. Molly barely has time to return to her train of thought when he returns briefly to peck her on the cheek, then leave in as much of a hurry. She had just enough time to look at his eyes, and she’s had enough Sherlock Holmes 101 to decipher Sherlock trying to be less narcissistic. It’s more common these days. This just might work out.

**

She’s fantasizing about it later and proceeds to burn her hand while trying to make dinner. Her hiss and yelp cause Sherlock to abandon his experiment. He frowns as he helps her attend to the burn. “What has you distracted?”

She sighs, and he looks annoyed. “Your insecurities are tedious, Molly.”

Molly doesn’t blanch, because she knows that, while he means exactly what he says, he’s also trying to reassure her. “No, it’s not that. It’s about sex.”

Now it’s Sherlock’s turn to look slightly insecure. “You’re not happy.”

“No, no. I’m happy,” she quickly reassures. “Very happy.” Molly takes a deep breath. “I just want to try something kind of new and I’m worried that you won’t, you know, be into the idea.”

Sherlock’s brow furrows. They’ve done a lot of experimenting in the last year with toys and bondage, and it’s obvious that his mind is racing through his catalogue of knowledge. 

He blinks when he hits the limit, and carefully schools his features. “What do you have in mind?”

“Role-playing.”

Sherlock furrows his eyebrows, and she knows he’s running through a catalogue in his mind, trying to decipher just how outrageous her ideas could be if they’re making her this nervous.

“It’s a rape fantasy, Sherlock. I want us to pretend that you’re raping me.” Hearing herself say the words out loud, it sounds both worse and better than she would have thought.  
Sherlock actually looks relieved. “Well, that sounds…doable. I feared for a moment that you were going to suggest something truly bizarre.”

“I don’t want to do something because it’s ‘doable’ Sherlock, I want to do it because it’s something we both want to do.”

Sherlock’s true smiles are rare enough that they tend to make her a bit breathless. 

“You’re quite good at that.”

“Good at what, Sherlock?”

“At putting others before yourself. It’s an admirable quality, often enough.”

Molly is saved by recalling that dinner is about to burn. Sherlock, uncharacteristically, allows the subject to change.

Molly allows the subject to recede to the back of her mind. Three hours later she’s in a comfortable pre-bedtime state, finishing the last pages of a book, clad in her favorite pyjamas, when she rises from the sofa and stretches. “I’m off to bed,” she says to Sherlock, although she assumes he doesn’t hear as he’s seemingly engrossed in the contents he’s peering at through the microscope.

Molly’s pleased but not surprised when she hears his footsteps behind her, and feels his arms encircling her waist. She feels a pleasant shiver when he begins to nuzzle her neck and whisper into her ear. “Tired?”

“Not anymore.” She steps out of his grasp, turns to kiss him, only to have Sherlock place one hand on her abdomen and press so that she falls backward onto the bed.

Molly gives a contented sigh as Sherlock climbs onto the bed to straddle her, knees on each side of her hips. He gently takes hold of her wrists and pins them to the mattress, above her head.

“Does this turn you on?” Sherlock asks seductively.

Molly can already feel the telltale wetness on the insides of her thighs. “Yes. Does it turn you on?”

Sherlock’s eyes are dark. “It does.” He releases his grip and slowly brings his hands down to the elastic waistband of her bottoms. “But Molly, you’ve surely observed that the surest way to turn me on, is seeing you turned on.”

Somehow, in spite of Sherlock making quick work of divesting her of her bottoms and pushing himself closer to the foot of the bed to tease her legs apart, Molly manages to string together enough words to make a sentence. “You’re the one who initiated this particular encounter.”

“It’s the cupcake print on these pyjamas,” Sherlock teases, “and the look in your eyes when you first proposed this roleplay idea of your’s.” He gives her one last wicked look before he buries his face between her legs. “And I happen to be madly in love with you.”

**

Sherlock is deep in her closet, murmuring to himself while Molly is perched comfortably on the bed. It’s exciting, but she wonders if she has anything appropriate for the scene. 

Sherlock tosses a jumper towards the bed without looking behind him. Molly frowns at it; it’s one that she’s not entirely sure why she keeps around. She doesn’t particularly care for the color, for one, and it’s a bit too tight. It has a v-neck that she’s not sure is flattering. 

“I don’t have the figure for this,” she says.

“Nonsense,” Sherlock replies. “You should wear it without a bra.”

“That jumper? Without a bra? In public?”

“My character will use it as an excuse.”

“People like your character don’t need excuses.”

Sherlock emerges from the closet with a short skirt in hand. Molly raises an eyebrow. It’s the shortest skirt she owns, and it’s black leather, another item she wonders why she keeps. Sherlock puts on his best charming look to convince her. “Don’t we want this to be as realistic as possible?”

“No. It’s a fantasy. The appeal of these kinds of fantasies is how unrealistic they are.”

Sherlock frowns. “That’s what the sex part is for. It’s the lead up that’s the fantasy part.” His expression softens. “I like the thought of you without a bra.” His eyes widen. “And knickers. You should leave the knickers behind.”

Molly bursts into laughter. “I know I’m playing a character, but this is still me we’re talking about. Can you really picture me in that outfit, with no bra or knickers?”

Sherlock’s countenance changes into a sort of predatory grin. “I’m picturing it rather clearly, actually.” He tosses the skirt aside and gets onto his hands and knees on the bed. “I’m having a vision of the future. You’re only wearing that fetching blush you get.”

Molly feels the blush creeping into her face as she glances down at her vest and her cupcake-print jimjams. It’s still a bit novel, to hear Sherlock saying these types of things. She reaches to unbutton his shirt and run her hands over his chest as he begins to kiss her neck and tug at her clothes.

She dozes off after the sex and when she wakes up, Sherlock is sitting up, writing notes in a small notebook with the kind of concentration she sees when he’s deep in an experiment. 

“Do you have a case on right now?” she asks through a yawn.

“No, I’m working on the roleplay.”

Molly shifts so that she’s sitting up. “You’re putting more planning into this than I would have thought. Which is fine,” she adds hastily.

“You’ve given me a worthy distraction,” Sherlock answers without looking up from his notes.

A yawn interrupts whatever she was going to say in response, and she shifts back down into a proper sleeping position. She’s just about to drift off into sleep when she feels a soft peck on her forehead. “You are a more than worthy distraction,” Sherlock murmurs.

**

Molly knows something is wrong when Sherlock stands from the table and begins to do the washing up. It’s his first night back from a case, but the evidence suggests that everything is fine as far as such things are concerned; Molly had returned to the flat after work to find Sherlock and John in good spirits. John had gone home and Sherlock had made dinner, which was something that was no longer unusual. Sherlock doing the washing up is a bit unusual, however. Molly decides to finish her wine and let Sherlock read her mind.

“What if I like it too much?”

Molly idly turns the stem of her wineglass between thumb and forefinger. It seems an odd question, at first. Sherlock is nothing if not highly aware of who he is. Of course, recent years have seen his sense of self challenged. He had likely never seen himself in a serious relationship before. They’ve already discussed safewords and they’ve planned out the scene meticulously, so his concerns run deeper.

“Did you only agree to the scene to please me?”

Sherlock frowns. He’s staring at forks and scrubbing them fastidiously. “No.”

“Okay, so what about the idea intrigued you?”

“I liked the idea that you’d be helpless. You’re always in control, competent. Yes, I’m aware that most people don’t think so, but most people are idiots who don’t know how to observe. In the fantasy, you’re entirely at my whim.”

“Do you like this about me, that I’m competent and in control?”

“Obviously. I would never have asked for help, we wouldn’t be together, if not.”

Molly takes a sip of wine as she’s suddenly nervous about what she’s about to reveal. “Well, I think that’s part of the appeal of this fantasy for me; not being in control, being at your whim. And I trust you.”

Sherlock stops scrubbing so hard. “You trust me with your physical and emotional safety.” He says this slowly, as if he knows that he’s just been struck by something that ought to be obvious. Instead of waiting for an answer he turns to face her and cups his hands behind her neck, tilting her face up to kiss her soundly. Molly shivers, and it’s not because he has wet hands. Sherlock can go from zero to fifty any day, but it’s still enough to leave her breathless.

“Let’s go to bed,” he says in that silky tone that he knows does her in. 

“You have to finish the washing up. Properly.”

Sherlock sighs. “How you can even think about the washing up when I’ve just kissed you like that makes my confidence plummet, you know.”

Molly ignores his put-upon strop. “I’ll go get ready. I’d really like it if you tied me up tonight.” She’s unable to suppress a smirk at the strangled sound he makes.

**

Foreplay is brief but intense; they’re both so aroused that they’re naked quickly, Sherlock tying the silk scarves that secure her to the headboard.

“How many orgasms would you like tonight, Dr. Hooper? I’m entirely at your whim.”

Molly sighs, not in exasperation but at the sultry tone that Sherlock has adopted. “Since I’m tied up, I’m hoping that I’m entirely at your whim.”

“Very well then.” Sherlock leans over her, braces himself by both hands on either side of her, then begins to trace a line with his tongue from her neck down to her breasts, where he takes one nipple into his mouth and begins to suck. 

Molly feels dazed as he trails kisses downward. She’s unable to suppress a noise of frustration when he hesitates.

“What’s wrong?”

Sherlock straightens and pulls himself up to face her. “Nothing. I’m just wondering if we ought to…practice a bit. And if I were…villainous, I wouldn’t want to kiss you. I’d be using you.”

Sherlock pulls back, resting on his knees between Molly’s thighs. He’s hard and leaking, and his hands are on her hips. “I’d just fuck you. Is that what you’re looking for?”

She’s wet and practically shaking with arousal and she wonders why he doesn’t just deduce it, until she realizes that safety indicates that she makes herself vocally clear. “Yes.”

It’s fortunately all the encouragement that Sherlock needs, and he begins to thrust into her vigorously. Soon Molly can’t help drawing her legs and knees in, trying to take him deeper. When she comes it’s with a shout that she hopes can’t be heard outside of the flat. Sherlock stills, then comes with a gasp.

“No, don’t untie me yet.” Sherlock, unsteady as he is, pauses in moving to untie Molly. “Is this alright then?” he asks as he slowly begins running a hand over her body. Molly sighs and leans into his touch, savoring being completely at his whim.

“Then again,” and Sherlock is using his seductive voice, “I don’t know if this is entirely realistic either…”

“Don’t you dare stop,” Molly attempts to use her ‘warning’ voice. It comes out as more of a plea, but it’s apparently enough to keep Sherlock attentive.

**

“I like you tied up,” Sherlock admits as they’re cuddling in the moments before sleep will overtake them. “I like it when we’re “vanilla” as well, but I’m thinking about this roleplay of your’s a lot lately. Perhaps we should do it soon.”

“Thinking about it has you distracted, does it?”

“Thanking about you often has me distracted, but yes, this particular fantasy has me distracted more than usual.”

Molly feels a pleasant flush in her cheeks. “You think about me often?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Molly shrugs, then realizes that it’s now dark in the bedroom. “It’s just such a change from when you didn’t notice me.”

“We had that conversation a while ago, long before you and I were together.” Sherlock pauses. “Besides, now I’ve seen you naked multiple times; it’s not easy to banish those  
images.”

“The mind of the great Sherlock Holmes, preoccupied with a naked me?”

“Great minds are often preoccupied with beautiful women, is my understanding. Well, I didn’t always understand it, but I do now-“

Sherlock is cut off by Molly claiming his mouth with her own.

**

Molly forces herself to take small, slow sips of her wine. She’s wearing the outfit that Sherlock had picked out, and she’s both braless and knickers-less, per his request, trying to decide if being so out of character is making her more nervous or less nervous. She’s chosen a booth at this pub so as to decrease the likelihood of attracting other men, but she’s already had to shoo away one, though he fortunately didn’t put up a fuss when she told him that she was waiting for her boyfriend. She’s scanning the pub’s patrons when Sherlock walks into her line of vision, and she nearly chokes on her wine.

Molly wasn’t even aware that Sherlock owned jeans, but he’s procured a pair that fit him like a glove, along with a simple button-down that hugs his chest in just the right way. Molly isn’t sure why most of the women and at least a few of the men don’t have their eyes glued to him.

“Anne?” Sherlock is at her booth and flashing a smile, and Molly reminds herself that they’ve gone to great lengths to act out this fantasy, Sherlock especially, and she must get into character and not grab her boyfriend’s hand and drag him to the nearest cab so they can get home and shag. “Yes,” she manages a smile of her own, though her’s is considerably more nervous.

“Hi. I’m Simon.” They shake hands and Sherlock slides into their booth to begin their date. “Anne” and “Simon” had met online, they had decided, and were conducting a blind date of sorts. 

“Beautiful girl like yourself doesn’t seem like she’d need a website to get a date.” Sherlock has changed his accent slightly, and pours on the false charm. Molly wonders if she would be able to see through it if this were real. She decides to play it as if “Anne” is able to; Sherlock will enjoy the challenge.

“You look like you’re one to talk; someone like you looks a little out of place sitting with a mousy girl.”

‘Simon’ lets his eyes trail over Molly for just a moment. “I don’t think I would use the word mousy.”

“Well you don’t know me, either.”

“Well let’s get to work changing that.”

**

“Well, here I am.” Molly rises up on her toes just slightly to give “Simon” a chaste peck on the cheek.

“Goodnight then,” Simon smiles and returns the chaste kiss, then turns to stroll down the hall.

Molly’s stomach is fluttering as she turns the key in her lock. She doesn’t spend that much time at her own flat these days, having moved so much of her life over to Baker Street, which is why they had decided that it would be more comfortable to act out the rest of the scene here. She’s listening acutely to the door that “Anne” believes is closing behind her as she enters her flat, and trying very hard to stay in character while also feeling her own arousal at what’s about to take place.

“You didn’t think that we were finished, did you?”

“Anne” startles and turns to see “Simon” flashing a predatory grin. Simon strides forward and puts his hands on her waist, letting thing slide down to cup her arse in his hands. 

Anne gasps as he leans down to kiss her forcefully on the mouth.

Molly nearly forgets how she’s supposed to react, but then manages to re-enter character. “Simon,” she tries for force and pulls away but her own arousal translates easily into Anne’s fear.

“Don’t be such a tease.” He pulls her flush against him, and Molly can feel how hard he is. Her own nipples are stiffening, but she wants to stay in character. 

“You need to leave,” she says firmly.

“Simon’s” smirk is chilling, but it’s Sherlock who begins to push her backwards towards the couch, as his nudge is gentle, a signal to move the roleplay along. They’re both wound tight, aroused, and the dialogue ends for a few moments as Sherlock pushes her down on the couch.

Molly is searching for something to get the roleplay going again. When she finally speaks again, she can hear the kind of timidity that she has with people she doesn’t know well. 

“Look, if you leave now, I won’t…I won’t call the police. No one has to know.”

“Simon” looks as if he’s about to say something, but Sherlock suddenly looks lost. “Molly…” 

Molly pulls one of her wrists free from his grasp and takes hold of his arm. “It’s fine, Sherlock. It’s okay, just say the word if you want.”

Sherlock hesitates, then he leans down to kiss her, gently this time. Molly returns the kiss firmly.

“Green,” Sherlock says after pulling away. “Green?”

Molly smiles. “Green.”

Sherlock uses his weight to keep her pinned somewhat in place as he pushes her jumper up over her torso, neck, and chin. He stops when it’s covering her eyes, and ties a makeshift restraint. It’s something that Molly could release herself from, if necessary, but Molly is far from wanting to extricate herself, especially as Sherlock stops and places a soft kiss to her lips, then down her neck. 

“You weren’t ready to be done with our date,” ‘Simon’ purrs as he trails kisses down breasts, taking the time to lathe his tongue over each hardened nipple.

Molly isn’t confident that her aroused, husky voice is covered by ‘Anne’s’ shaky, fearful voice, but knows that Sherlock’s enthusiasm is unlikely to be dampened. “If you leave now, I won’t tell anyone what happened.”

‘Simon’s’ low chuckle is enough to make Molly acutely aware of how wet she is, and she has to remind herself not to arch up into him. She’s so distracted that she doesn’t hear him undoing his zip, but she can feel the slight shaking in his hands as he begins to push her skirt up.

Sherlock’s attempt at a growl comes out as a gasp, while Molly’s attempt at a gasp comes out as a moan. He’s inside her in one thrust, and any attempt at maintaining the roleplay is gone, between the pace Sherlock sets, the way Molly must rely on the only sensations left to her, and the entire evening’s sexual tension. Sherlock attempts a strangled “Molly” and that is enough to send her over the edge. In the midst of her own orgasm, she can feel him shudder, then climax.

Somehow, Sherlock manages to gather her up in his arms. He gives her a chaste kiss on her cheek, which is sweet if a bit odd, as he’s still inside her. He carefully pushes the tangled jumper out of the way, Molly shrugging out of it easily. As her eyes adjust to the dark, she reaches one hand up to idly caress his face.

“I want a shower,” she says a moment later, and she’s treated to a rare moment of Sherlock being somewhat flustered.

“Okay, um…”

“Come with me?”

Sherlock gives a soft sigh. “Sounds brilliant.”

Molly finds the perfect temperature, allowing the water to soak her hair and stream down her face and body. Sherlock steps in a moment later. He seems a bit shaky, and Molly takes the sponge from him and squeezes a bit of body wash out. Sherlock is intently concentrating on her fingers squeezing to create a lather. Tentatively, she begins to run the sponge over his skin. Sherlock puts his hand over hers, gently. In a moment he is steady enough so that he’s able to return the favor.  
When they finish and turn the water off, they step out of the bathtub and towel one another off. Molly grabs a large, dry towel and wraps it around the two of them so that they’re skin to skin. The familiar scent and feel are enough to bring them back to normalcy. Sherlock takes each of her wrists in his hands, one by one, as if to ensure that her skin doesn’t show any marks. Satisfied, he kisses each in turn.

Molly is loath to break the comfortable silence. “Thank you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock seems surprised by her words. He leans down to kiss her. “Perhaps we can do it again sometime.” He answers her smile with one of his own.

**

“You and I are more alike than most people realize.”

“How’s that,” Molly asks drowsily.

“We’re both misunderstood.”

“Everyone thinks that they’re misunderstood.”

Sherlock is silent, and Molly wonders if she’s said the wrong thing. “Of course, I think someone once said that to be great is to be misunderstood.”

Sherlock sighs softly. “That someone was wise. I have the proof right here in my arms.” He pauses. “But maybe I want people to misunderstand you. If everyone knew how brilliant and sexy you are, I wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Molly huffs a laugh. “If everyone knew how kind and sensitive you really are, I wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Sherlock wraps his arms around her just a bit more tightly. “That’s fortunate, as you are exactly what I need.”


End file.
